


Double Shot Exorcismachino

by idanato



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Ghosts, Hauntings, Humor, Minor Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Wingwoman Mercedes, but make it haunted, the ghosts are also fe3h characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28632468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idanato/pseuds/idanato
Summary: Hubert’s dream coffee shop turns into a nightmare when he learns it’s haunted AF. Luckily Mercedes, who runs the rival bakery across the street, is an amateur exorcist.(Featuring some hauntingly familiar ghosts and Hubert trying to win back Ferdinand after he is literally scared off)
Relationships: Mercedes von Martritz & Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 24
Kudos: 36
Collections: Mercedes/Hubert Weekend





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 1 of Mercibert weekend  
> Prompt: Cute things & the macabre

Hubert von Vestra was hardly what one would call an ambitious businessman, but he was an effective one. He had aided the corporate takeover of his dear friend’s family business, and then when that was all done, he’d taken his generous severance package and purchased a narrow storefront sandwiched between a charity shop and a pharmacy. There he allowed his early retirement to become fully realized in the form of Roast and Brew, his own dream coffee shop.

Dark mahogany counters, rich roasts from all over Fodlan and beyond, mugs that accommodated large noses — it had it all. Unfortunately the place was also absolutely haunted. Online reviews bemoaned the dead atmosphere while others suggested he rename it “Ghost and Boo”, which Hubert did not find especially witty. He tried to instead sell his coffee shop as scary good, and that the ghosts were part of the ambiance. He even started dressing like an old timey bartender to really sell the experience, although if he was being honest the gloves, vest and old fashioned pants were a part of his regular day-to-day wardrobe.

At least Ferdinand was a loyal customer, but only because he was Hubert’s friend, and not because he appreciated the coffee. Ferdinand sat on one of the high emerald stools while his tea bag steeped, staring out at the new shop opening across the street. The painters were there today, emblazoning _The Blessed Bakery_ in big, curling letters upon the windows. A large stylized emblem of Seiros decorated the door.

“Oh, I heard they’re going to sell loose leaf teas there,” said Ferdinand in a wistful, longing voice. Hubert did not miss his friend’s quick disappointed look at the sad commercial tea bag wallowing in his mug. Roast and Brew specialized in coffee, not tea.

“I believe it’s a religious bookstore too,” said Hubert, with keen distaste. “Proselytizing and pies.” He folded his arms and aimed a glare at the cheerful looking eyesore set to open in several days. He’d walked by in the evenings and seen the plush over-sized chairs that one would get lost in, and the the great big dessert counter that was sure to be filled with cavity causing confections. Then there were the rows upon rows of used books going deep into the dark corners of the place.

“A bakery across the street might boost sales for you,” suggested Ferdinand. It was no secret that Hubert’s profits were mostly from his sad bid to stop hemorrhaging money by offering a biweekly brew box that he mailed out so people could avoid coming in to the shop. The coffee, everyone raved, was not the problem; it was 100% the ghosts.

“As if I would allow outside food purchased from a place that’s funding the church,” said Hubert with a hiss. As he said it a bag of beans tipped over without any apparent source of disturbance. Ferdinand took on a slightly paler shade as he averted his eyes from the great big mirror situated behind Hubert. It was as if seeing that one ghost that one time looking back at him had scarred him for life or some nonsense.

The bell on the coffee shop door dinged as a woman, arms filled to the brim with pastries, breezed right in. “Good afternoon, new neighbor,” announced the too sanguine woman as her face peeked around her absolutely enormous gift basket of baked goods. She was rosy cheeked from the cold, and dressed as if she’d taken her fashion cues from a tiramisu or a creme brulee.

_New neighbor_. Hubert straightened up as he forced the thinnest possible smile, “Ah, would you be the proprietor of the Blessed Bakery?”

She plopped the basket down on the bar and held out a mitten to shake, “Indeed, I’m Mercedes von Martritz, I’m in charge of the operation.”

Hubert reluctantly grabbed onto her woolly hand and gave it a halfhearted shake. “My name is Hubert von Vestra, welcome to Roast and Brew.”

Mercedes was still smiling as she took in the place, her eyes lingering on the decorative chandelier and the crown molding, “This is quite the shop you have here.”

“It was a bar, during the art deco period,” said Hubert, unable to help himself but to launch into the details despite his reservations about her. “It closed during the prohibition period and never reopened, languishing with all the original fixtures gathering dust until I came along and restored it to its proper glory.”

Mercedes looked impressed, which Hubert was slightly annoyed with himself for being pleased by, as she nodded along. “Well it’s just beautiful, not like the online reviews at all—”

As she said it a pastry levitated and then flew straight into the mirror, smearing apricot jam down the glass. Everyone stared in silence until finally Mercedes broke the tension by clapping, “Wow! Ghosts, how lucky.”

_Lucky?_ Hubert was going to have to burn some sage later, this was getting messy. “Yes, the building is quite haunted. It seems to be concentrated here, though I’ve heard of strange happening in the thrift store and sometimes the alarms get tripped at the pharmacy at night, with no apparent cause.”

“We don’t have anything like that on our side of the street,” said Mercedes, clearly crestfallen. “Just a normal tea shop and bakery.”

Ferdinand was helping himself to a pastry, “These are simply delicious.” _Traitor!_

Mercedes beamed, “Oh I’m so very glad you think so. Actually I brought them over in the hopes of selling you on perhaps a little store to store collaboration. You see, I know cookies and cakes, I know tea, but I simply do not know coffee. If we combined our forces—”

“I’m not interested,” said Hubert without a second thought.

“Perhaps if you let me finish my pitch?” suggested Mercedes.

Hubert held up a hand to silence anymore ridiculous suggestions, “No thank you Ms. von Martritz. If people are interested in enhancing whatever fare they get at your shop with a rich mug of coffee, they merely need to cross the street.”

“I was hoping we might suggest pairings, like a light roast might compliment a danish,” said Mercedes. A light roast with a danish? She had absolutely no taste. “I think it would benefit both our profits.”

“I have no intentions in helping a religious organization boost any revenue,” said Hubert as his voice went to ice. “So the Blessed Bakery will just have to pray to Seiros for better sales.”

Mercedes pursed her lips and nodded, “I see. Well, then I shall not bother you with that idea anymore.” She smiled, too sincerely for Hubert’s comfort, and gestured to the basket of baked goods, “Please enjoy the sample, and I hope you might stop by when we open. First cup of tea is on the house.”

“I don’t drink tea,” said Hubert. “So please do not expect to see me.” Mercedes gave him a very tight lipped smile but thankfully let him have the last word.

When the bothersome baker was clear of his shop Ferdinand turned to Hubert, absolutely aghast, “Why were you so rude?”

Hubert fumed as he began cleaning up the ghost-flung pastry that had really managed to make a sticky mess. “Rude? I am merely asserting my right not to participate in a religious operation. You know how I feel about the church.”

Ferdinand sighed so hard he nearly fell off his stool, “Fair enough, but you don’t have to push your agenda on that poor kind woman. She was just being nice, and these are really good cookies!” He was getting crumbs all over the place.

Hubert paused to sneer at the suggestion, “Agenda? Please. Besides, the church aspect pales in comparison to these offensive treats. They’re packed with refined sugar and gluten, it’s a threat to public health.” He was hoping that blasted bakery would be closed soon and stop being such a blight on his view.

However, come opening the place was packed. Hubert did not have a single customer the entire day even as cheerful people walked by with tea and cakes. They did not give his coffee shop a second look. Even Ferdinand did not come by, and Hubert found himself forlorn and closing early. With a heavy heart Hubert locked up his darkened shop and began his walk home. As he passed by the Blessed Bakery a flaming red head caught his eye.

Ferdinand was sitting in one of the too cozy chairs with a book in his lap and pie in his mouth! A glorious looking pot of tea was steaming beside him and he appeared to be having simply the greatest time. He never smiled that much in Hubert’s shop. Hubert’s face was practically pressed upon the glass when Ferdinand looked up and started choking on his pie in surprise at the sight. Hubert huffed as he walked away in disgust. Some friend Ferdinand was.

Ferdinand came crawling back for forgiveness in a predictable fashion the next afternoon. “Hubert, you made me choke! Thank goodness Mercedes used to be a nurse and was able to do CPR on me after you just walked away.” It was not really an apology, and more of an accusation.

Dramatic as usual. “Hmm, it seems to me her pies are deadly, I’m sure the health inspector would thrilled for that tip. Maybe I can use it to get her shut down,” suggested Hubert without looking up from his newspaper.

“Don’t you dare, that place is a treasure, you should really visit,” insisted Ferdinand. “She was serving coffee eclairs yesterday, even your bitter palate would like those.”

Hubert lowered his paper and narrowed his gaze. “I doubt it.” He’d sooner eat his own boots than one of her choux pastries.

Ferdinand composed himself, “I wish you would be more mature about this. I’m afraid that I must come clean with you, I come to your shop because I _like_ you, not for the coffee and definitely not for the ghosts. This is the only place I can spend any time with you because you work all the time! Please, hire help so that we can go somewhere nice and not haunted for a change.”

“My shop is nice,” sputtered Hubert, still blindsided by the confession. He hardly had the profit margins to hire employees. Also, what was this about Ferdinand wanting to spend extra time with him? That was news to him.

“Hubert this place is haunted, pardon my language,” began Ferdinand as his voice dropped to a shameful whisper, “as fuck.” It took a lot to get Ferdinand to curse. He was serious. He shook his head with frustration, “I’ve been trying to support you but this is getting ridiculous. I really liked the Blessed Bakery, I wish you would give it a chance. We could always go together.”

Hubert felt a strange sensation in his chest as he listened, “Are you, are you abandoning me in favor of that stupid bakery?”

“It’s not you, it’s this shop,” said Ferdinand as he gestured around at the empty place. “I really, sincerely don’t like it in here. That ghost is very scary and mean.”

Hubert’s eyebrows crinkled in disbelief, “Well so am I. The ghost is as much a part of this place as I am, and if you don’t like it maybe it is best that you leave.” Gauntlet thrown!

Ferdinand just looked exhausted, “Read the writing on the wall, this is turning into a failed venture.” With that he departed. The little bell on the door gave a little ominous ring as if it might never ding again because no one else would ever come in.

Behind Hubert a bloody, transparent finger began to write a small _ha ha_ upon the mirror. “This is not funny,” hissed Hubert as he got out the glass cleaner and cloth.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks to months. The Blessed Bakery was a roaring success and Hubert’s sad coffee house was perpetually empty now that his one usual customer was only talking to him through texts. Since the bakery opened it seemed fewer and fewer people were coming in now that there was an enticing shop that filled almost the same role just across the street. His accountant, the money savvy Leonie, was on him about how he was just barely breaking even with the online sales and if that was the business model that was working it was time to sell the storefront. With great reluctance Hubert began to search for a buyer or new renter. He didn’t want just anyone getting this space, and he really did not want to let it go (ghosts notwithstanding).

The absolute last person he’d ever considering selling to was the too happy baker coming in now right after closing. In her hands was a dainty white box wrapped in twine. “I saw you might be moving locations?” asked Mercedes, clearly gloating because no one was naturally that happy.

“Shutting down, not moving,” said Hubert stiffly as he stared down into his evening mug of coffee laced with alcohol. “Speaking of which we are technically closed now.” He stopped himself from outright insisting that she leave.

“Oh, sorry, the door was unlocked,” said Mercedes. “Anyway, I wanted to bring you these.” She passed him the box, “Ferdinand suggested you might enjoy some of the coffee eclairs I’ve been testing out. I’m curious if you think the flavor balance is right.” She was talking to Ferdinand to the point they were on a first name basis and discussing flavor profiles of her recipes. Hubert would absolutely never admit to missing von Aegir, but he missed von Aegir.

Hubert felt defeated enough to indulge her request. He opened up the parcel and looked inside at the delicately arranged assortment of not just coffee eclairs but chocolate croissants, a slice of opera cake, and some very professional looking macrons. “Thank you,” said Hubert in a quiet voice.

Mercedes took a seat and placed her absurdly large purse up on the counter. “I’ll have what you’re having?”

“Like I said, we’re closed,” said Hubert. He glanced at the handle of whiskey sitting next to his mug, “And I don’t have a liquor license.”

“Well I won’t tell if you won’t,” promised Mercedes as she laced her fingers together and patiently waited.

Hubert sighed and prepared her a coffee cocktail. A base of a standard nutty dark roast, a dash of dark cocoa with a sprinkling of fresh nutmeg, and a light cream liqueur to offset the whiskey. Mercedes closed her eyes as she inhaled the coffee fumes and took a sip, “Oh it’s such a nice warm treat.”

Hubert allowed his silence to serve as his agreement. Mercedes looked around and traced a finger along the pattern of the bar’s veneer. “This would be such a lovely spot to play jazz or read poetry in the evenings.”

“I did try an open mic night but, alas, it was a total failure,” said Hubert between sips of his drink. “The audio equipment I rented kept going out and then the lights wouldn’t stop flickering. Even the most dedicated amateur beatnik fled in fear.”

Mercedes’ big fluffy eyebrows raised up with either contempt or concern, he couldn’t quite tell. “Poor babies.” She paused as her eyes lit up with an idea, “Have you considered overnight scare tourism?”

He had. “The insurance rates for such ventures are more than I am comfortable with,” said Hubert.

“Well do you at least know who your ghost is?” asked Mercedes.

Hubert stared at her and drew a blank. No, he had no idea about the identity of his ghost, “They haven’t really introduced themselves.”

“That’s not very polite.” Mercedes sipped some more of her coffee cocktail as she looked around with care, “Let’s start with everyone who has died here.” As she said it there was a horrible cracking noise. Hubert winced as a decorative pool cue snapped off the wall.

Mercedes’ eyes zeroed on the action, “Maybe that’s a clue!”

“Maybe you should leave,” suggested Hubert. He and the ghost lived in begrudging harmony, and Mercedes was threatening to rile everything up.

Mercedes frowned and got up but instead of heading towards the door she went back to the decoration on the back wall, “Did you install this?”

“That was an old pool table that I re-purposed,” said Hubert as he cautiously approached. He’d turned it into a seating area, not that any customers had ever gotten this far back into the shop. It always felt dreary and cold back here, and Hubert wondered if there was a draft or something he ought to look into. Mercedes began to pull at the green felt cover on the pool table he’d spent ages getting the dust out of. She frowned and began to rip the thing apart.

“What are you doing?” asked Hubert in disbelief as she destroyed his fixture. “That’s original to the bar!” Beneath the felt was the unmistakable rust color of a bloodstain, a big one, soaked into the underlying wood.

“I believe someone was murdered here,” announced Mercedes with too much excitement. At that moment, the lights went out.


	2. Chapter 2

Hubert smacked the flashlight a few times until it emitted a weak beam of light. “The circuit breaker is in the basement,” grumbled Hubert as he made his way toward the too small door that led to the lower level. The stairwell was absurdly short, only to his shoulders and he had to hunch the whole way going down the stairs. It gave the entire walk a very cramped and stuffy feel. Hubert avoided the basement as much as possible.

Mercedes had her phone out as a much brighter beacon. “Should I lock the front door or—”

Hubert sighed, it would be a cigarette butt in his eye for someone to come in and rob the place now. “Yes, if you insist on accompanying me that is.”

Mercedes clicked the deadbolt into place and flashed him a thumbs up. Hubert braced himself for the dark, permanently chilly basement. He kept his hand up along the ceiling to make sure he didn’t bash his head in this time, and carefully descended.

Open back staircases should have been outlawed. Ever since Hubert was a child he was irrationally afraid of them. It was all stupid Randolph Bergliez’s fault for pranking him and grabbing his ankle from between the slats when he was six or seven. Hubert tripped and fell down the whole flight, broke his arm, and lost a tooth. His father was furious with him for playing on the steps as if Hubert had consented to the whole ordeal.

Now his eyes were glued to the dusty steps as he white knuckle gripped the railing. Mercedes was creeping down behind him shining in some extra light and for some irrational reason faintly giggling. Hubert stopped and turned back to her, “What’s so funny?” This was no time for a joke.

Mercedes squinted as his light shined in her eyes, “Hmm?”

“You were giggling,” said Hubert in a huff as he turned back around and continued down the stairs.

“No, I wasn’t,” said Mercedes with a slight worry in her tone.

Hubert felt a small finger graze along the gap between his sock and his pant leg. He nearly jumped up two steps right in to Mercedes. “What, what now?” she asked as she grasped the railing to stop from falling.

“Nothing,” insisted Hubert as the giggling grew louder.

“Oh I hear that too,” whispered Mercedes in awe. He despised that she had the audacity to be enjoying herself through this.

They were almost to the bottom of the stairs when something fell over in the dark. Hubert spun his flash light beam in the direction of the noise as Mercedes hustled to get a view over his shoulder. “It’s just the vacuum,” said Hubert loudly as he looked at the ancient thing. He marched towards the circuit breaker box and pried it open. “Old, faulty wiring, that’s all this is,” insisted Hubert as he got the lights back on. A strange buzzing noise began up in earnest and Hubert groaned wondering what that could possibly mean. He wondered if he could sell the place without getting a proper electrician down here to check that out. 

The basement was a dustbin. Mercedes looked around as the single light on a string came on. “Well, I can see why you don’t come down here often,” she said as she took in the naked brick walls and the exposed sub flooring he’d yet to put anything over. Even she was having to crane her neck to avoid the comically low ceiling.

“This was a front,” said Hubert as he looked around the bare room. “When the bar upstairs shut down, they opened a secret one in the cellar.” He motioned for Mercedes to follow him to a section of the wall where he’d left some painter’s tape to remind himself of the secret entrance’s location. The buzzing noise was getting louder. “I suspected something like this was likely here, but it took me some time to find it.” He tapped searching for the hollow sound, and then pushed open the door through the false wall. He palmed for a light switch once inside as the smell of rotting meat hit his nose and flooded his mouth with an unpleasant musk.

As the lights came on they revealed a very old and dingy speakeasy and at it’s center a grizzly scene. Mercedes gasped as Hubert blinked in disbelief. The buzzing was flies, thousands upon thousands of flies swarming through the place. The crusty yellow walls were crawling with them. Then there was the sight in the middle of the floor. One moment, a pile of bodies lay steeped in blood, and in the next breath they and all the flies were all gone. The lighting flickered and the filament bulbs hissed but otherwise the room was silent.

“W-who ran this speakeasy?” asked Mercedes, finally with a tremble in her voice and properly scared. She was practically clinging to his back.

“I believe it was the Faerghus Four,” whispered Hubert in a worried tone. He really hoped those were not the ghosts currently occupying his establishment. Felix ‘The Fixer’ Fraldarius, ‘Sweet Lips’ Sylvain Gautier, Ingrid ‘Horsemeat’ Galatea, and lastly, their boss, The Czar ran this city back in the day after eliminating the local competition in a series of brutal killings.

“Oh, what if this is the site of the Saint Cichol Day Massacre?” whispered Mercedes as she looked at the spot where the gory apparition had been. “They never found Big Papa Jeralt’s body.”

“You really think I’m being haunted by the Eisner family?” A pack of pissed off mobster ghosts was the last thing Hubert needed in his coffee shop.

“Well there’s only one way to find out,” said Mercedes as she turned to leave.

“Wait, where are you going?” demanded Hubert as he raced after her, first making sure to turn out the lights as he went. He knocked his head straight into the too low stairwell ceiling as he caught up to Mercedes.

She pointed to the front door, “I just need to go grab some things from my shop.”

“Like what? A rolling pin?” Perhaps she would bludgeon the ghosts to a second death.

“No,” said Mercedes as if that were a ridiculous notion. “I need my exorcism tools.”

Hubert swore he misheard. “You perform exorcisms?”

“Well, no, but I would like to try,” said Mercedes as she continued on her way. Hubert gave a wary look at his coffee shop where his chandelier was perilously swinging for no apparent reason, and decided to grab his coat and follow her to the bakery.

The Blessed Bakery was quiet and dark and perfectly unhaunted. Hubert lingered near the entrance as Mercedes flicked on the lights. Speakers started up playing some soothing acoustic guitar tracks. “You can wait in one of the chairs if you like,” offered Mercedes as she entered in an alarm code.

“I’ll just follow you if that’s alright,” said Hubert with a mistrustful look at the overly plushy chairs. They looked as if they might swallow him whole if he attempted to sit in one.

“Suit yourself,” said Mercedes in her usual cheerful tenor as she made her way to the bookshelves near the back.

Hubert’s eyes traced over the spines of the books and was shocked to see familiar titles instead of religious drivel. “Are these all horror?”

“For the most part. This is my personal collection. People are welcomed to borrow or trade as they like,” said Mercedes as her fingers lovingly ran along the well used paperbacks.

“I assumed this was a religious bookstore,” muttered Hubert as he looked at a particularly titillating cover of a well hung werewolf.

Mercedes gave him a confused frown, “No? Why would you think that?”

“The Seiros symbol on the door, the name of your shop,” said Hubert, to list a few big things.

“I guess I can see how you might make that mistake.” Mercedes laughed and shook her head before continuing down the row, “We do benefit some church affiliated charities. There’s a women’s shelter that took my mother and I in years ago, and an orphanage that I volunteer at that both get some of our profits. I mean it says so on the door.”

Hubert felt slightly sheepish about his misconceptions about the place that might have been cured by just coming in, but there was no point in bringing it up now. Mercedes paused and pulled out a particularly big book, “Here we are, _Home Exorcisms_.” She passed him the heavy tome and continued towards a back office where Hubert saw some choice movie posters for old slashers hanging. Mercedes pulled out some incense and a bottle of water with a crude handmade label reading _Holy Water_. Lastly Mercedes grabbed a Ouija Board and shoved it in Hubert’s arms. “Good, let’s go!”

“You cannot be serious,” said Hubert as he looked at the pile of questionable occult goods between them.

“Oh Mr. von Vestra, I am as serious as your spectral infestation,” said Mercedes with a slightly creepy smile. “Come on.”

Back in the coffee shop things had somewhat calmed down. The lights were steady, the temperature wasn’t like a walk in freezer, and no apparitions of dead bodies were flashing before them. Hubert wondered if perhaps it had just been some light carbon monoxide poisoning and they could just go home instead of investigating.

Mercedes took off her yellow scarf and draped it over one of the tables before setting her Ouija board down. She plucked a small triangular shaped device out of her massive purse and laid it upon the board.

“Do you have that on you at all times?” asked Hubert in dry disbelief.

“You never know when it might come in handy,” said Mercedes as she shut her eyes and lightly brushed the tips of her fingers upon the object. She let out a few guttural _ohms_ before peeking at him, “You’re supposed to put your fingers on the other side.”

Hubert begrudgingly took his seat and then rested his fingers on the little wood triangle. Mercedes frowned, “You want a very delicate touch, don’t rest your wrists on the board, the spirits need to be able to move the planchette.”

 _Right_. Hubert straighted his posture and kept his fingers barely grazing the silly toy. Mercedes seemed satisfied by his performance and cleared her throat, “Oh spirits of Roast and Brew, I have some questions for you.” She was practically singing it and Hubert wondered if she was rhyming on purpose.

“Does anyone want to come talk to me?” asked Mercedes, a little less sing-songy and little more hurt that no ghosts had jumped to the occasion. “We’re just trying to make contact with you so that we can understand—”

The planchette jumped ever so slightly. Hubert’s eyes narrowed on Mercedes. He wondered if there was a hidden camera somewhere and if this was all a massive prank. However Mercedes looked absolutely thrilled. “Oh, oh Mr. von Vestra, look!” The small wood arrow was edging its way towards the board’s conveniently placed _Hello_.

“Hello spirit, is there a name you’d like to go by?” Mercedes’ voice had gone full customer service with too much sweetness. From her facial expression Hubert could not help but feel that this was real, at least to her, and not in fact a joke at his expense.

The planchette awkwardly scraped along the board. “F,” whispered Mercedes. “L, A, Y, N.” Mercedes looked like she was holding her breath waiting for more, “Flayn. Oh what a lovely name, nice to meet you Flayn.”

His ghost was named Flayn. Hubert decided it best to get right to the point. “Alright Flayn, well if you could just leave—”

The planchette came to a halt. Mercedes kicked Hubert beneath the table, “Please forgive Mr. von Vestra, he’s not very good at making first impressions. Please keep talking with us Flayn. Tell us about yourself, who are you?”

“Or what do you want?” suggested Hubert. Perhaps the ghost just needed something and then they could move on towards the light. The planchette began to hesitantly drift. _F. I. S. H._ Hubert stared and blinked. The planchette moved no more. “Fish? You want fish.” He glared at Mercedes. If this was a joke it was a poorly executed one.

“Huh, fish,” said Mercedes. She glanced up at Hubert, “Maybe you should install a tank, that might appease Flayn and get them to leave you alone?”

Hubert was about to say how a fish tank would utterly disrupt the mood of the place when the planchette trembled. Mercedes watched with wide eyes as she muttered out the letters. “Others here,” said Mercedes in a quiet voice as the arrow ceased moving. She looked at Hubert with wide eyes. “I think you might have more than one ghost.”

Hubert leaned back in his chair. He had a pack of ghosts. A mob, one might say. “Right, how do we get rid of them?”

Mercedes shook her head in silence. “Don’t say that,” she said with warning in her words. Above them the chandelier groaned as it swayed. Mercedes took a deep breath before addressing the room, “I get the sense that something very awful happened here, and that there may be some unfinished business.” As she said it the cash register drawer shot open and clattered upon the ground, sending bills and coins all over.

She carefully unscrewed the cap of her holy water bottle and took a small sip. Hubert dropped his voice to a whisper, “Is that supposed to protect you?”

“No, I’m just a little parched,” said Mercedes as she looked at the ouija board and then at the bar. She cleared her throat and focused on him, “Mr. Von Vestra, in my experience, those who meet violent ends do not make for happy ghosts. They may want revenge.”

“Revenge?” asked Hubert in a hiss. “Revenge? The Faerghus Four—” as he said it the lights flickered and Hubert swore he saw a tall shadow looming near. Hubert was not going to be bullied by a bunch of dead beats. He stood up and looked around the room with his meanest glare, “The Faerghus Four have been dead for decades. I have nothing to do with them, I personally hate Faerghus.”

“Not helping,” said Mercedes under her breath as she looked around. The espresso machine began humming and steaming, and then the grinders started churning. Several Adrestian presses exploded sending shards of glass all over the place.

Mercedes stood and clutched her purse full of questionable exorcism tools tight. “Um Flayn, perhaps we can talk this out—”

Hubert’s blood went cold as a small hand took his own. It felt like grabbing dry ice without any gloves and the pain crept up his arm as he dared himself too look down. A very pale, blood soaked girl looked up at him with wide green eyes, “That’s the Ashen Demon.” Her voice was barely a whisper and flooded with fear.

One by one, Hubert’s meticulously arranged coffee mugs began to fall from their shelf and shatter upon the floor as the disturbance crept towards their table. Mercedes began snapping photos with her phone as she barreled towards Hubert and pulled him from the scared little ghost girl. She drug him towards the front door and out into the night, “We need a better strategy Mr. von Vestra, this is far worse than I thought.”


	3. Chapter 3

Hubert sank into one of the threateningly plushy chairs of the Blessed Bakery. It was over, his shop had ghosts, plural, and a demon, singular until demonstrated otherwise. Across the street, tables were now floating around inside and crashing against the crown molding. He wished he had turned out the lights before being drug out the door just to spare himself this sight.

“Here we are, the Ashen Demon. Oh bother, it’s just a nickname, not a proper entity from hell,” said Mercedes as she scrolled through an article on the Historical Preservation Society page. “It appears Byleth Eisner was Papa Jeralt’s only child, and was quite the trained killer.” She flashed Hubert a look at her computer screen to show him a wide eyed young woman who looked like she’d never learned how to properly smile.

Hubert massaged his temples, wishing to wake from this nightmare he found himself trapped inside. Mercedes hummed as she continued to read, “Oh here’s the juicy part. Byleth and the Czar crime boss, that’s Dimitri Blaiddyd, fell in love isn’t that nice—”

“Why do I feel like it did not end well?” asked Hubert as he stared at his poor shop.

“Oh, oh no it didn’t,” said Mercedes with a hint of disappointment. “Oh no! The Cichol’s Day Massacre was on their wedding day, how awful.”

Hubert would be pissed too if he had been massacred on the day of his wedding. He too might even haunt the hell out of wherever it happened. Mercedes spun her laptop around to show him a black and white picture taken hours before disaster struck. The doomed wedding party were standing outside a church.

He recognized the flower girl as the terrified spirit, Flayn, who had taken his hand. Hubert looked at the faces of those departed; they looked happy, they had no idea in a few short hours they’d be rendered mincemeat by a horrible gang war. “So what do we do to encourage them to, you know, go on to the light?”

Mercedes stared thoughtfully at the screen of her laptop as a dreamy look crossed her face. “We throw them the reception they never got,” she announced.

Hubert wondered if this chair he was in could just swallow him whole and spare him this insane plan. “You believe that if these ghosts are thrown a party they’ll leave?” Hubert supposed if someone threw him a surprise party, he too would walk right out of wherever it was happening.

“It’s their unfinished business,” said Mercedes. She gestured around her shop, “Besides, I’m a baker. I can make them a wedding cake!” She looked fully convinced of her scheme and clapped her hands as if Hubert had agreed. “We’ll need period appropriate decorations, guests—”

“Guests, who on earth would come to something like this?”

“Well we’re coming up on St. Cichol day, we can pretend it’s a, you know, a re-enactment event,” said Mercedes with glee as she gestured to the Historical Preservation Society’s _About Us_ page. The society appeared to be formed of a small group of cheerful looking weirdos dressed up in home made armor.

“We’re not re-enacting a massacre,” said Hubert emphatically. “I don’t think anyone in their right minds would attend a haunted wedding reception for a couple of dead gangsters.”

“Oh, I know some people who will most definitely show, although I cannot say if they’re in their right minds,” promised Mercedes with a wink. She frantically typed out something and clicked her track pad with far more enthusiasm than necessary, “I have just emailed an invite to the entire Haunted Enbarr listserv. You’re welcome.”

And that was how Hubert found himself hosting his first Spooky Social.

***

“You realize when I agreed to be your date to a wedding, I thought it would involve, you know, living people,” said Ferdinand as Hubert parked his car in the alley behind the coffee shop. Ferdinand had clearly thought this was a real 20’s themed wedding and was dressed in a very dapper manner. Hubert felt slightly guilty for the deceit but knew there was no way in hell von Aegir would accept an invitation to a strange holiday occult party.

“Who do you think I know that would invite me to a wedding that would not also invite you?” asked Hubert in a mix of incredulity and frustration that this event was happening at all. At the very least he was making money by charging admission for the whole affair.

“Am I just here to help you empty your trunk?” asked Ferdinand as Hubert piled party goods into his arms.

“No this is a real date,” insisted Hubert, even though he was taking slight advantage of von Aegir’s strength. Mercedes had all but bullied Hubert into asking Ferdinand to come to this mortifying social that was sure to be attended by only the most wacky and weird people in the city.

“Well, if we ever have another one, rest assured I will be planning it,” said Ferdinand with a clear tone that suggested this was very much a trial date and no second one was guaranteed.

Inside the shop, Mercedes and Hubert had been working hard for the last week to clean the place up and get it ready without incurring any supernatural wrath. Hubert had spent his evenings meticulously recreating 20’s style paper decorations for the ground floor. Mercedes had tacked the basement because she insisted that was absolutely where the Haunted Enbarr club would want to go. Somehow she’d made it look even worse than before.

The first “guests” to arrive were technically on the clock. Ashe and Dedue were Mercedes’ bakers here to deliver and set up all the desserts. Dedue looked like he’d rather be spending a Saturday evening doing anything other than hanging out in a haunted shop, and Ashe jumped at every single little noise. Next to arrive was Mercedes, dressed in a flashy gold fringe dress, and the absolutely hulking bouncer she had hired. He looked like he’d been spit out of a mosh pit and straight into a gutter. He was perfect.

“Where did you find him?” asked Hubert in a mix of horror and appreciation that Mercedes had managed to procure such a frightful looking helper.

“Oh, in my mother’s basement,” said Mercedes with an affection pinch of the bouncer’s rugged cheek. “This is my baby brother Emile.”

Emile emitted a low growl deep from the recesses of his throat, “I told you, it’s Jeritza now.”

Mercedes smile never wavered although her voice grew slightly taut, “Alright _Jeritza_ , go mind the door please.” As her brother lumbered off she gave Hubert an exhausted look and whispered, “I don’t know if it’s a phase or what. Ever since he joined that Death Knight metal band he’s been all Mr. Tough Guy, but I know he still sleeps with a stuffed bunny rabbit.”

The first ticket holders to arrive were definitely Historical Society types based on their period appropriate frocks. A pleasant mannered red head extended her hand, “Annette Dominic, president of the Enbarr Historical Players club.” She barely came up to his chest.

Hubert shook her hand awkwardly, “Hubert von Vestra, owner of Roast and Brew.”

“You’ve done such a great job restoring this place,” marveled Annette as she all but forced him to give her tour. She asked about each and every fixture, and it seemed no detail was too small to talk about. Hubert gleefully droned on, finally having found someone excited to listen to his little art deco facts. When that was done it appeared quite a few more people had arrived.

“Oh goddess, it’s him,” said Mercedes with a nervous excitement as she grabbed Hubert’s arm. He craned to see whom she was referring to and took in a mountain of a blond man. “It’s Raphael Kirsten, you know, the food blogger.” Hubert did not know, but by the conniption she was having he assumed Raphael’s popularity was as mighty as his presence. “He’s trying my macrons, oh, oh, I have to go introduce myself.”

“Ah-hem,” tittered an annoyed voice beside him. Hubert looked down to see a white haired young women with thick black glasses. If he was a betting man he would guess she had come with the fright club based on her spiderweb tights. “I’m Lysithea von Ordelia, resident skeptic of the Haunted Enbarr crew. You expect me to believe _this_ place is haunted?” She gestured around to the well lit and sweetly decorated coffee shop. “What a lark, I want my money back.”

“No refunds,” said Hubert in a dry voice as he looked her over. “Besides, you ought to check out the basement before you pass your judgment.” Lysithea gave an apprehensive look towards the creepy tiny entrance to the lower level. Hubert checked his watch, it was show time, “Excuse me,” he skirted past the ghost denier and helped Mercedes with getting her microphone working.

“Good evening my ghouls and ghosties,” said Mercedes with glee as she took in the crowd. The metallic beading of her dress dazzled and glittered as Dedue dutifully manned a spotlight on her. “Tonight we gather to observe St. Cichol’s day. Exactly one hundred years ago, this day began with a rather special wedding.”

Hubert readied the slide projector he’d had to borrow from his grandparents to display the old photo of the ill fated wedding party. As the picture shined against the wall, Hubert swore he saw the Ashen Demon blink. Mercedes continued her narration. “According to records Dimitri Blaiddyd and Byleth Eisner were wed before their closest friends and family. Their reception was to be held here, but when the party arrived they were met by uninvited rival gangs, nervous about the merger of these two deadly forces.”

An ominous thud sounded from the basement. Lysithea von Ordelia rolled her eyes and scoffed to the person next to her, “So fake.”

Mercedes ignored the naysayer. “Many members of the wedding party were caught in the crossfire, in an event that has come to be known as the St. Cichol’s Day massacre. It happened in the basement of this very establishment.”

The lights flickered, and a slight girl with purple hair in the crowd emitted a high pitched peep as she pulled the drawstrings of her hood tight. Mercedes let out a startling cackle, “As you can see, we are not the only ones here for tonight’s party.”

“Can you believe this?” demanded Lysithea as she looked at the closest person to her, poor Annette who appeared beside herself with fear. “Ghosts aren’t even real—” She let out a squeal and jumped, “What just touched me?” Hubert shushed her, even though he was grateful towards whatever spirit was presently messing with her.

Mercedes was clearly living for this, and kept adding extra wiggles to her movements to make the fringe of her flapper dress was always shaking. “Dimitri, better known as the Czar, survived this horrible event. He went on to seek retribution on Enbarr, eliminating all the rival gangs as vengeance for his bride.” Mercedes gave a longing look at the wedding photo, “All the while, she’s been here.”

The lights went out. Ferdinand shrieked just as the helpful flashlights of twenty plus phones illuminated the room. Mercedes raised her voice now that her poor microphone was dead, “It’s alright, this is fairly standard spectral mischief!” Her face, though sweet and made up, looked terrifying in the harsh light of her flashlight shining up beneath her chin. “But we must go to the breaker box, in the basement.” Lysithea let out an unruly groan of disbelief.

This was likely against some fire code. Everyone crammed down the stairs into the freezing cold basement where Hubert dutifully flipped the breaker back into place. The lights came on and gasps were had as everyone took in his and Mercedes recreation of a prohibition era speakeasy filled with ‘Just Married’ signs. Mercedes ushered some of the fright club into the creepy backroom bar, “So tonight, we gather to give them the proper wedding reception they never got to have. Please, enjoy the coffee, the cakes, and the music. We’ll be starting with this favorite 1921 classic, I’m a jazz vampire.”

Hubert cued up the bizarre hits of a century past as the event began. Mercedes was talking Raphael’s ear off about how much she enjoyed his blog, Big Eats, and Lysithea was live streaming the event. “Hour one, no convincing activity, just cheap tricks.” Around her other members of the Haunted Enbarr scene were taking selfies in the Photo BOOth and doing their best imitations of old timey dances.

Annette had her hands over her heart as she talked to another dorky member of the Preservation Society, “Ignatz, please, don’t leave me down with these people, I think they’re actually hoping some spirits show up!” Her colleague looked like he had seen, well, a ghost.

Upstairs, Hubert did his best to keep the coffee drinks flowing. Ashe was refreshing the snack selection, “I mean, this place isn’t really haunted right?”

Hubert gave him a ghoulish smirk, “Oh, it really is.”

As Ashe scampered to find a saner person to chat with, Ferdinand came over to lean against the bar. “Well, this has been an interesting evening.”

Hubert was about to retort something about how he wasn’t that bad of a date planner when the bell above the door gave a ring. “Sorry this is a ticketed event,” started Hubert as he looked up. His voice dried up in his throat as he met the single burning blue eye of what could only be Dimitri Blaiddyd’s ghost.

Ferdinand’s eyes went from the ghost to the projected photo and back to the ghost. “Oh my goddess—”

“Shh,” hissed Hubert as the ghost walked undaunted into the shop and towards the tiny door. The bulbs flickered and hissed as Blaiddyd’s heavy blood soaked boots trudged past. Hubert and Ferdinand stayed perfectly still as the ghost lumbered down towards the speakeasy.

A few screams echoed up from the basement and Hubert tripped over himself in an effort to race down the stairs to see what was happening. Mercedes caught him at the bottom, “Look!” She pointed into the back room where Blaiddyd was dancing with what could only be his bride robbed from him too soon. More glowing figures materialized as frighted patrons tried to get out of the way. Lysithea let out a wail as one waltzed right through her. The ghosts paused as if they realized something was not right.

Hubert grabbed Ferdinand and drug him towards the otherworldly invasion. “Everyone on the dance floor, now!” Nervous people paired up and joined the ghosts in their long delayed reverie. Annette clung to Lysithea as both women watched the specters surrounding them. Jeritza humorless swung around the frightened purple haired young woman to the music. Mercedes did not miss her chance to force an unsuspecting Raphael into her embrace.

For a moment it was not 2021, but 1921. A bride and a groom had their first dance as they ought to have had, before fading away as the song ended and a time long past returned to present.

Everyone was whispering about what they’d just seen. About a dozen phones were out and overjoyed members of the Haunted Enbarr crew were reviewing their found footage. Mercedes’ grin was as wide as her face. “I believe that solves you little ghost problem,” she said as they took in their roaring successful social. “Although I am a little sad to see them go.”

Hubert was not sorry at all. He extended his hand towards Mercedes to shake, “Thank you, I would not have been able to do it without your expert advice.”

“You know Mr. von Vestra, we do work pretty well together,” said Mercedes as she looked out at the crowds enjoying her baked goods and his fancy coffee drinks.

“Please, call me Hubert,” he insisted; they were well past formalities. “I’d like to revisit that idea you had about partnering up in some capacity.”

“Let’s talk business tomorrow,” said Mercedes. She discreetly pointed to where Lysithea was hysterically live streaming with Annette about the ghosts. Mercedes smirked with satisfaction, “For now, let’s enjoy the party.” It appeared she had a beefy food blogger to seduce, and Hubert had his own date who needed dancing with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm a Jazz Vampire" is a real song from 1921, who knew?

**Author's Note:**

> This may in fact be the dumbest take on a coffee shop au yet, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoy writing it! 
> 
> (will be either 2 or 3 chapters, I'm not totally sure yet)


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